You Must Remember This
by Bonibaru00
Summary: After Voldemort's defeat, Harry retires to run a luxury hotel. But a visitor from the past brings a dangerous object - and a mystery - into Harry's life. Can he and Draco prevent another war? (slash)
1. Default Chapter

The skies over London threatened snow and the wind was bitingly cold. Not an unusual occurrence for this time of year, but the wizard swore at himself for forgetting to wear his hat and gloves or at the very least a scarf. Conjuring something could draw an unfortunate amount of attention to him, as the streets were crowded with Christmas shoppers and watchful Aurors.  He was supposed to be back at the office, not out roaming the streets in the middle of the day.  He settled for hurrying into the nearest pub to grab a quick something for the chill in his fingers.   
  
The Leaky Cauldron was warm inside, but it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.  As he made his way to the bar, he caught snippets of conversations among the patrons. "I'm telling you," a man said, "whatever it was, they're all in a flurry to get it back. And it's very hush-hush, they don't want anyone to know -" the voice faded as he passed out of range, overtaken by another. " – daft prick thinks he's so much better than me. Can't meet his parents, nearly a year together now but he won't admit -" He pushed his way round a pair of dark-haired young women, chattering in a rapid-fire mix of German and broken English, tightly clutching their overflowing shopping bags. He caught the eye of the barmaid, who smiled broadly in recognition.   
  
"Tea, please."  
  
She turned, soft red hair falling away from her face as she reached up for a mug. "Nippy out?" she called back over her shoulder.  
  
"It's bloody frigid. Ta, Gin." The steaming mug warmed his hands as he blew across the surface of the liquid, watching the tendrils of steam curl up toward the ceiling.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be working?" She nodded toward the collar of his Ministry uniform, peeking out from under his cloak. "You're not usually about this early."  
  
He grinned. "I had something to take care of at home. I only stepped out for a bit – it's not like they'll even notice I was gone."  
  
"Oh, you don't think they all notice when the big boss is out of the office? They're tap dancing on their desks right now." She leaned across the bar and grinned lasciviously. "So, taking care of the little woman? Gonna be the first to make Mum a granny?"  
  
He blushed in spite of himself, but chuckled. "Well, you know. It takes a lot of practice to make a baby."  
  
She shook her head. "You and Hermione, parents ... it's a scary thought."  
  
"Hey, nobody's more scared about it than me," he answered.  But he knew he must look happy, because his sister's glowing smile could only have been reflected back from his own face.  
  
Their touching family moment was interrupted by a tug at his sleeve. "Chief Weasley, Sir."  He turned to find Auror Johnson at his side. "There's been an urgent owl for you from the French Ministry of Magic.  I went by your house, but your wife said you'd already started back." Ron frowned.  Drat his nosy secretary.   That woman could find him in under half an hour, even if he was in the Wizard Protection Program.  
  
Johnson handed him a rolled up parchment bearing the official seal of the French Ministry. "Thank you," Ron said brusquely.  "I'll just finish up this last bit of official business, and I'll be there straightaway."  
  
"Yes, Sir." Johnson saluted, spun on his heel, and trotted out of the tavern.  
  
Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Official business?"

  
"Officially freezing my arse off." Grinning, he dropped a handful of coins on the bar and downed his almost-too-hot tea in one gulp, then bade his sister farewell as he trudged back out into the streets. As he walked, he opened the letter and began to read.   
  
After the first few lines, he stopped short in the middle of the street, his eyes growing wide. Ignoring the angry glances of pedestrians who staggered to avoid running over him, Ron focused his full attention on the parchment. After he finished reading, he folded the paper and tucked it away inside his cloak.  
  
"Well, well," he said, to no one in particular. "Looks like it's time to go and visit an old friend."  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Remus Lupin was having a very good day.  
  
He surveyed the disco with a gleam in his eye.  The dance floor was a lively mass of sinuously writhing bodies, and there was a line at the bar three Wizards deep.  He'd already seen that nearly every table in the adjacent dining room was occupied.  To top it off, Rico had just assured him that the casino was also full of people having fun and spending lots of money.  It was the week before Christmas, and all of the guests seemed cheerful and full of high spirits.

Stepping out of the dance club into the foyer, he carefully closed the door behind him.  The club was loud, although silencing spells kept most of the noise from invading the surrounding rooms, so the rest of the hotel stayed relatively peaceful.  But opening the door always let a little sound spill out, and he didn't want to disturb the other guests too much.  
  
Business had always been good, but of late it was positively booming.  The post-War years were proving to be cash-rich and time-poor for most Wizards, but in typical British fashion they always seemed able to make time for vacations.  Most wizards and witches wanted to go to places where they could eat, drink, dance and socialise without mingling with Muggles.  The Ministries of Magic of many European countries had instituted strict new laws since the defeat of Voldemort, when the remaining Death Eaters had gone into hiding.  International Wizarding travel had become heavily regulated, due to the remote but always-present threat of Death Eater resurgence.  The resultant inconveniences caused by government interference in what were previously simple activities had been quite profitable for Remus.  
  
He stood and looked around the festively decorated foyer, still a little in awe of what he and Harry had accomplished in three short years.  The Phoenix Hotel was an oasis for world-weary Wizards.  It was a castle, stately and grand in the way that English castles were meant to be, located in the countryside several miles outside of London.  Harry had bought the land for Remus after the War, when they couldn't bring themselves to go back to 12 Grimmauld Place and neither had anywhere else to go.  The walls of the lobby were painted in warm oranges and rich burgundies, reminiscent of the colours of Gryffindor House.  Guests sat on plush couches around the great crackling fireplace, sipping tea, admiring the brightly decorated Christmas trees, or simply chatting with each other.  The Phoenix was a place that felt warm, comfortable and safe, and that was a feeling of which no one could get enough.   
  
It seemed like hardly anyone had made it through the war unscathed, emotionally or otherwise.  Remus had conceived of and built The Phoenix - with Harry's financial backing - to give people a chance to get away from the unique pressures of post-War reconstruction, and the memories that some of them would have to endure forever.  Dreamless Sleep potions were kept stocked in the apothecary, because he knew he wasn't the only one who still had nightmares full of blood and fire and flashing green light.  
  
Some wanted to gamble, but only on games that were playful and harmless.  It wasn't very long since just getting through every day alive had been a game of chance.  There were Muggle card games, adapted for Wizards: Poker and Blackjack, as well as other games like Roulette and Craps.  Dragon racing was transmitted live, every day, from Romania.  Betting on professional Quidditch took place only in the back room, only for a very select clientele, and if questioned Remus knew nothing about it.  
  
He noticed a young couple at Reception holding hands and nuzzling affectionately.  Newlyweds, Remus thought, and from Scotland, judging by the colour of the Wizard Transit Authority permit tags on their luggage_._  He raised a questioning eyebrow at the desk clerk and got a subtle nod in return – all their papers were in order.  He sighed.  Wars came and went; governments rose and fell, but life went on as it always had.  Only now, it was with significantly less freedom than before the fear of Voldemort and his Death Eaters had brought out the worst in everyone.  

Remus felt his stomach growl, and moved toward the dining room.  The lateness of the hour meant that the number of diners would be thinning out.  That was when Remus liked to take his own evening meal.  He preferred to sit at the bar, listening to the piano player and contemplating his plans for the next day … except when there was an attractive, silver-haired young woman sitting alone at the bar.  Such an occasion warranted an immediate change of plans.  
  
"A beautiful woman alone at a bar is a crime against humanity," he said, coming up next to her.  "May I join you?"  
  
"Certainly, monsieur."  She indicated that he should take the empty stool next to her.  
  
The barman looked over, and a glass of ice appeared in front of Remus.  "The usual," he said.  The barman waved a hand, and Remus's glass magically filled with fifty-year old scotch.  He glanced at the empty wineglass in the woman's hand.  "And a refill for the lady, on the house."  
  
She raised her magically refilled glass to him with a smile.  "Mmm.  Style, sophistication, _and_ service.  You're my kind of man, Monsieur Lupin."  
  
He blinked.  "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mademoiselle…?"  
  
"My apologies!"  She extended her hand.  "I'm Fleur DeLacour.  I know your partner, Harry Potter.  We were in the TriWizard Tournament together during his fourth year at Hogwarts."  
  
"Oh, yes!  You were the champion from Beauxbatons," Remus said, taking her hand and bowing slightly.   "It's nice to finally meet you.  Please, call me Remus."  
  
"I'm pleased to meet you too, Remus.  I've heard so much about you.  You're quite famous, you know.  Tell me, what's it like to be a dashing war hero?"  
  
Remus laughed.  "Not as exciting as you might think.  There's a surprising lack of profit to be made in the war hero trade.  It's very dull, really.  That's why I run this place in my spare time."  
  
"It's lovely here.  Harry lives here as well?"  
  
Remus nodded.  "We own The Phoenix together.  He's more of a silent partner, though; I handle the day to day business operations myself."  
  
"Dear, sweet Harry.  It's been so long since I've seen him –I'd like to say hello, if you know where he is."  
  
"I'm sure he's around somewhere.  This is the time of night that he's usually downstairs, having a spot of tea, or playing chess."  People who specifically asked after Harry usually meant trouble of some kind.

  
To Remus' experienced eye, her smile was predatory.   "I must ask him to have a drink with me."  
  
"He doesn't drink with the customers," Remus answered as he raised his glass to her in a mock salute.  "That's mostly my job."  
  
"How odd," she said, slowly spinning round in her chair to face the main room.  "He always seemed so friendly and approachable at Hogwarts."  
  
"Oh, he is.  It's just … " Remus looked down at what was left of his drink, swirling the ice around in the glass.  "People come here to escape from things, you see.  Stress, anxiety, scars left by the war … lots of people have them now.  Everyone recognises Harry – he's the most famous Wizard in the world, after all, and people always want to sit and talk with him.  And if you sit and drink with someone long enough, eventually they start telling you their troubles.  Harry's had more than his fair share of those.  He doesn't really need to hear about anyone else's."  His kept his voice casual, but added just a hint of warning to the tone.  Remus was very protective of his friend and highly suspicious of this woman.  
  
Fleur nodded but didn't answer, quietly scanning the room.  Remus easily noticed the little grin of triumph she gave when she spotted Harry's unruly dark head, bent low over a chessboard, at a side table near the musicians.  The seat across from him was empty, and the band was going on a break.  
  
She stood and gathered up her cloak.  "Perhaps the company of a beautiful woman, as you say, will give him something else to think about for a while.  I don't have any pain to share."  She winked, but Remus wasn't fooled.  Beautiful or not, there was something about this woman he didn't like.  He wanted to tell her so, to warn her away from Harry.  But he'd found in the past that Harry didn't take kindly to being protected behind his back.  He'd have to be more subtle about it, or find a way to talk to Harry privately later.  He felt the absence of Sirius with a pang; he had the directness that Remus lacked, and had always been able to handle Harry better.  
  
"Good luck," was all he said.  "I'll be in the casino.  Come and find me later if you want, we'll play some Blackjack – maybe between the two of us, someone will get lucky tonight."  
  
Fleur smoothed a hand over her hair and her robes, dropped a handful of coins on the bar, and headed for the empty chair.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Harry concentrated on the board in front of him.  Chess was one of the things in life that required a person to think about strategy in advance, because blindly following a standard pattern and not thinking far enough ahead meant certain defeat.  You didn't bring your queen out too early, because a crowded board presented more opportunities for the other side to entrap her.  You didn't use your king to attack, because losing him meant losing the game, and rooks were most valuable at the end.   
  
Harry didn't mind playing alone.  It gave him something to focus his full attention on.  Ron used to tease him that playing against himself was cheating, because he would always know what he was going to do next.  _No challenges, no surprises_, his friend had said.  But that was just the thing – Harry _didn't _know.  Not if he kept himself honest.  Not if he blocked out everything else and just concentrated on the game.  Sirius, before his death, had taught Harry how much could be gained by finding out your own strategic weaknesses.  If you could get through your own defences, anybody could.  And there was always at least one method of getting through even a seemingly impenetrable defence.  The more holes you could find, the more ways you could think of to block them before someone more dangerous found them too.  Every strategy had a counter strategy.  Even one lowly pawn could win or lose the whole game, just by being in the right place at the right time.    
  
This particular game was turning out to be rather complicated.  White was mounting a strong defence, but black was being very aggressive.  It was hard to say how things would go.  As he contemplated white's next move, a shadow fell across the table and a familiar voice disturbed his quietude.  
  
"Harry, darling!  May I join you?"  
  
He didn't look up.  "Even if I said no, it wouldn't stop you, Fleur."  
  
She took the seat across from him.  "Tsk, tsk.  Is that any way to greet an old friend?"  
  
"I wasn't aware that we were ever friends," Harry answered.  She laughed.  He looked up just long enough to catch the eye of the Maitre'd, and motioned with his hand.  Karl nodded and disappeared behind the bar for a moment, returning just long enough to deposit another glass of wine into Fleur's hand.

  
She took a long sip and sighed appreciatively.  "I've been looking forward to spending some time in Britain again. The climate here is so ... rich."  
  
 "Really," Harry replied casually, moving his hand out of the way of the flying pieces as the black queen shattered a white bishop with her sceptre.  "I would have thought it would be colder here than you normally prefer."  
  
She chuckled, a dry, low sound. "Oh, don't worry about me. When I travel, I come prepared for all kinds of weather." Her long, silvery eyelashes swept downward and curtained her eyes as she took another sip of wine.   More chess pieces flew as a white knight trampled a black pawn with merciless glee.  
  
"Sadly, I'm not here on holiday," she sighed, setting her glass down on the table. "It's business.  But this will probably be my last trip to England. After this I'll be able to retire, and lead a comfortable life someplace that's warm all year round. I've heard lovely things about California. I've always wanted to go to America, Harry, haven't you?"  
  
Harry studied her carefully, trying to figure out what she was up to.  He could tell she was baiting him, trying to draw him out into a little game of cat and mouse. But he couldn't see why yet, and he wasn't all that interested in taking up where she had left off. Still, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. She'd distracted him just enough from the game so that no matter what else white did, there was going to be a checkmate in three more moves.  So he leaned back in his chair and finally gave her the flirtatious smile she expected.  
  
"Why, Fleur, have you finally seduced some rich old codger into leaving you his fortune?" He saw her eyes flash in response. Now the game was afoot.  
  
Reaching into her cloak, she drew out a small bundle, wrapped in a soft bag of brown leather. "This, Harry, is my retirement package. What's in this bag is so valuable that after I meet with my client tomorrow, I won't have any worries for the rest of my life. I can lie on the beach, drinking those Muggle concoctions with the little paper umbrellas in them, being waited on hand and foot by handsome young men." Her eyes were dreamy, and Harry began to think she'd had a bit more than one glass of wine before she'd found him.  
  
"That sounds lovely," he said. "So what is it?"  
  
She smiled. "Just a little something a client wants, for a private collection. That's what I do, after all.  I help people _acquire _things.  Now, about that - I've come to ask you for a tiny favour."  
  
Ah, he thought, here comes the hook.  "And what would that be?"  
  
She batted her eyelashes at him, tossing her silvery hair back over one shoulder with her free hand. Oh, this was going to be good, Harry thought.  
  
She leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially, giving Harry a full view of exactly how low cut her gown was. "I need you to hold onto this for me tonight. I don't want to put it in the hotel vault with the other guest valuables. Not that I question your security measures, darling, but I'll feel much better if it is not kept in such an obvious place.  My business reputation, you understand, is entirely dependent on my ability to deliver as promised."  She glanced around furtively.  "There are certain – people - who must not be allowed to get their hands on this."  
  
She took Harry's hand in her own, and placed the pouch into it. Her fingers were slim and surprisingly warm. Using both hands, she closed his fingers around the pouch and held them in place. He could feel something round and hard through the supple leather; light, but solid.  He mimicked her tone.  "Certain _people_?  What certain people?  Are you in danger?"  
  
"No, no, of course not.  But one never knows, eh?  Listen, there are other people I could ask to do this, Harry, but you're the only person I trust not to misplace it, or sell it behind my back.   I know it will be safe with you.  This is a very rare and desirable object, and it, too, is powerful.  If it were to fall into the wrong hands - " she trailed off, unwilling to finish the statement.  "Please, Harry, hold this for me and keep it safe.  Just until tomorrow night, and then I'll be away from here for good, and I won't trouble you again."  
  
Harry shook his head.  "Sorry, Fleur.  You'll have to do better than that.  You're asking me to put my business and possibly myself at risk, and you won't tell me what this is or what it's for?"  
  
She dismissed his remark with a wave of her delicately manicured hand. "Don't make it sound so dramatic.  I have a valuable object to deliver to a paying client, and I need a safe place and a trustworthy person to keep it for me overnight. I'm willing to make it worth your while." Her eyes travelled up and down his body in a way that left no doubt as to what she would prefer that he ask of her in return.  
  
He pretended not to notice.  "If this – object – is as valuable as you claim, I'm not sure that I'm comfortable with it –or you - being here at all.  I don't want any trouble.  As a _businesswoman_, I'm sure you understand that I have my own interests to protect.  And you haven't satisfied my curiosity enough for me to say yes."  
  
Her gaze was intent upon his face, studying him for any indication she might get her way.  She brightened suddenly.  "Would it help convince you if I told you that soon another old friend of yours will be arriving – one that you will be very happy to see?  Is that enough to pique your interest?"  
  
Harry's eyes flickered toward a movement in the doorway, then back to hers, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. "Well, what do you know? It seems that's the most straightforward thing you've said all night."  
  
Fleur frowned a little, and turned to see what had caught Harry's attention. Chief Regional Auror Ronald Weasley, accompanied by several uniformed female officers, had entered the dining room and was approaching their table.


	4. Chapter 4

As the other patrons caught sight of the Ministry's law enforcement team, conversation shifted to a low murmur. A few people raised menus or copies of _The Daily Prophet_ in front of their faces, conspicuously trying to look inconspicuous. A seedy-looking gentleman in the back of the room rose to his feet, slipped quietly through the back door into the kitchens, and did not return.  
  
"Fleur DeLacour!" Ron exclaimed, pulling off his gloves and giving her a charming smile as he bent to kiss her hand. "How wonderful to see you! You look breathtaking, as always."  
  
She favoured him with her trademark coy glance, but Harry didn't miss the hint of tension that had crept into the line of her body, or the abrupt shuttering of her face into an artfully blank expression. Judging by Ron's devilish grin, he hadn't missed it either.  
  
Harry suddenly realised that he'd tucked the bundle she'd given him into the inner pocket of his cloak when he'd seen the Aurors entering the room. He wasn't sure why, except that he really wanted to find out what Fleur was up to on his own.  As he took Ron's outstretched hand in greeting, he smiled warmly, but gave away nothing.  
  
"Harry! You're looking well!"  
  
"Ron! To what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
"We've had some interesting news from the French Ministry, and I think that Miss DeLacour might be able to help us in our investigation.  It seems that a very precious object has recently been stolen from their national museum. The clever thieves were able to enchant the night watchman into lowering the wards so they could get in and get out without being detected."

Harry watched Fleur closely as Ron spoke, but she maintained a steely composure, studying her nails and sipping nonchalantly at her wine.

"Unfortunately, the poor fellow seemed to have been so addled by the spell that he wandered into a restricted area and was killed - rather messily, I'm afraid. So now we have not only a theft on our hands, but a murder as well."  
  
At that, Harry saw Fleur's expression change to one of mild concern and her voice quavered slightly as she spoke. "How awful! The poor man! But I cannot imagine what any of this has to do with me.  I'm sure I don't know anyone who works in a museum."  
  
"Now that's where things get really interesting. You see, the area that the unfortunate guard wandered in to, happened to contain a Dyonesian Crystal, used in medieval times to hold the souls of the dead.  The museum curator was able to not only release the spirit of the guard, but also to question him before the poor fellow passed onward to the next realm.  While the description he gave of the enchantress - a beautiful young woman with long silver hair – didn't specifically fit any one person, the description of her companion was detailed enough that the French Aurors were able to find and arrest him. With the help of _veritaserum_, he kindly revealed not only the identity of his partner, but that she was on her way to a resort in Britain to meet with their buyer.  Imagine my delight at finding you here just when we were coming to tell Harry to be on the lookout for you. I appreciate your saving us the trouble of a more exhaustive search."  
  
He nodded, and two Aurors stepped forward from either side to grasp Fleur's arms just above the elbow. "No!" she said sharply, as they pulled her up out of the chair. Around the room, the murmuring crowd grew quieter, and more heads began to turn toward them.  "There has been some mistake. I don't know anything about this robbery you speak of. I have been here, on holiday, all this past week."  She looked at Harry with pleading eyes.  
  
Harry stood motionless, hands clasped at his waist. He said nothing.  
  
A third Auror stepped forward and ran her hands over Fleur's body, checking inside her clothes, feeling along her legs and ankles. She removed Fleur's wand from the pocket of her cloak and handed it to the fourth Auror.  When finished, she stepped back with a quick shake of her head. "Nothing else," she said. Ron nodded again, and the Aurors moved to take Fleur away. "No!" she cried, and began to struggle, trying to pull her arms free, but the Aurors were well trained and too strong for her. "I can't go to that – that place!  Don't take me away!  Help me, Harry! Harry!" She threw him one last desperate glance over her shoulder as they dragged her from the room. Through a curtain of flying silver hair, Harry saw a look of desperation etched on her face.  The door closed firmly behind them with a loud click that resonated through the now silent room.  
  
Then, just as abruptly, conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.  Harry heard the clink of ice in glasses and the clatter of silverware on plates as the diners resumed their meals.  The band, finished with their break, picked up their instruments and began to play _The Carol of the Bells_ softly in the background.  
  
Ron turned to him with a sheepish look. "Sorry about that," he said. "It would have gone easier if she'd been outside the walls, and we could have used a binding spell instead of doing things the old-fashioned way. Your anti-Apparation and anti-violence wards may be useful for protecting your business interests, but they make it damned hard to properly arrest anyone."  
  
Harry managed a small laugh. "I guess it's lucky that we don't have much need of arrests around here, then.  So, Ron, this - thing, that they say she stole – what is it?"  
  
Ron leaned a little closer. "That's a good question.  They called it a Key, but what it opens, no one's mentioned – only that this Key is quite old and extremely valuable.  Whoever her buyer is must have access to a fortune.  Knowing the calibre of her usual clientele, I'd wager it's no one reputable."  
  
"You mean – could it be Death Eaters?" Harry kept his voice low. "Coming back, after all this time?  Do you think she's a sympathiser?"  
  
"I don't know," Ron sighed. "I'm more inclined to say she's an opportunist. But your guess is as good as mine.  The French Aurors said they've been trying to catch her for four years. She's a very good thief, specialising in difficult jobs.  It's no accident that poor fellow at the museum got killed, I'll wager – she's tops at covering her tracks. But they'll take care of her interrogation at Azkaban, and she'll be held there until she can be taken back to France for trial. We'll know where that Key is soon enough, and once we have it in our hands I'll feel a lot better."  
  
A wave of cold panic washed over Harry. How could he be so stupid!  They would certainly use _veritaserum_ on her, and she'd tell them she'd given him the Key thing. He put his hand over his chest and felt the hard lump tucked into the pocket of his robe. Best to turn it over to Ron now, before -  
  
His thought was abruptly interrupted when one of the Aurors rushed back into the room, breathless and flushed. "This can't be good," Ron muttered, as she hurried over to them.  
  
"Sir, I'm afraid - I have some bad news." She gasped for breath, then continued. "The suspect - when we got outside - I don't know, maybe she was stronger than she looked - she got loose somehow, grabbed my wand, and ran. She was trying to make it through the gate. If she'd got out, she'd have Apparated and we'd never have found her again. Hansen tried to _stupefy_ her before she got all the way over the bridge - I think he thought she'd fall forward under her own momentum, but she must have tried to dodge at the last second and she went sideways. She fell into the water after it hit her and -" she looked down at her feet.  "I'm afraid there was nothing we could do. By the time we pulled her out, she'd drowned. She's dead, Sir."  
  
Harry was too stunned to know if he was saddened or relieved.  
  
"I see," Ron said in a clipped tone. "Well, that's the end of that. Take the body away and see to the notification of next of kin, if you can find any.  We'll do the paperwork when I get back to the office."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Ron sighed heavily. "Bugger. There goes my only lead.  Her hired muscle didn't have any other information that was useful.  I've still got to find the person who financed her, and get them into custody before they get what they're coming here for. If she didn't have the Key on her, she's probably got it stashed around here somewhere."  He turned to Harry. "I'm going to need your permission to search the grounds, if you don't mind, and I may need to question some of your staff and the other guests. I'll try to be as discreet as I can. I understand you're running a business here, I won't turn it into a circus."   
  
The cheerfulness was long gone from Ron's face, and Harry noticed the tired lines around his friend's eyes and mouth. He felt a momentary pang of regret that they weren't as close as they'd been in their younger days … that the progression of time and his own tendency toward isolation had put some distance between himself and his oldest friend. He would've liked to have been able to tell Ron that he had the mysterious Key safely in hand and everything was under control, to enlist his help along with Hermione's, just like in the old days. But Harry had a gut feeling there was more to this whole thing than anyone was letting on, and he meant to find out what before doing anything that might put anyone else in danger. If the Death Eaters really were resurfacing then Harry would be one of their primary targets. He felt much safer with the object of their pursuit in his own custody. Involving the oft-inept Ministry could bungle the whole thing, and he could always owl Ron later if it looked like he was going to need help. One lesson Harry had never forgotten from his youth was that the only person he could always truly count on was himself. He didn't know if Ron would put their long time friendship above his duty as Chief Auror, and he wasn't in the mood to test that just yet.  
  
Harry's arm felt like a lead weight as he lifted it around Ron's shoulders and gave the other man what he hoped felt like an affectionate squeeze. "Of course, Ron, anything you need. I'll make sure that Remus gets everything together for you." He waved Karl over again. "Please find Mr. Lupin - he's probably in the casino - and tell him that Chief Weasley and I will be waiting for him in his office, in ten minutes."  
  
"Why ten minutes?" Ron said, as Harry steered him toward the door.  
  
"Because that gives us just enough time for a good stiff drink. Unless you're on duty," he added.  
  
Ron made a show of checking the time. "Look at that, would you. I'm officially off the clock."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
The freezing rain came down hard, falling in slanting sheets and making it difficult to see very far, but a brief flash of magic told Gerry, the Phoenix's security guard, that someone had just Apparated to the front gates of the resort.  The tall man held a large black umbrella over his head as he stepped up to the window of the warm, dry guardhouse and presented Gerry with a stamped identification parchment.  Gerry studied it carefully, then looked at the man's face under the hood of the heavy cloak, and felt his stomach flip over in recognition.  Calmly, giving nothing away, Gerry handed the papers back and pointed his wand at the large, iron gate.  He whispered the words that released the security spell.  It creaked open slowly, and the man hurried up the cobblestone drive toward the main entrance of the castle.

Gerry watched him disappear into the rain, his mouth pressed into a thin line, then turned to the fireplace and threw a small pinch of green powder into the flames.

"Rico," he said, when the floating head of the resort's security captain appeared.  "You'd better get Mr. Potter."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stretched and yawned as he and Ron left Remus' office.  Ron had filled Remus in about the details of what had happened with Fleur, but Harry hadn't said anything to either of them about the bundle he carried in his pocket.

"I know I've been here a dozen times, but I can never get over how big this place is."  Ron looked across the foyer to the long, elegant staircase that spiralled toward the guest rooms.  "I'm glad I decided to come back tomorrow with reinforcements.  My legs will give out if I have to make more than two trips up and down those stairs to interrogate suspects."

Ron was smiling in a way that made Harry grin in return.  There was nothing Ron liked more than a good interrogation – Ron had shown a considerable aptitude for detective work, and that coupled with his acts of heroism during the War and his father's elevated position in the Ministry had helped him achieve his high Auror rank at such a young age.  Hermione liked to tease that it was especially ironic considering how much of Ron's early teens had been spent in a perpetual state of cluelessness.

  
"That's what I get for letting Remus do the planning," Harry laughed.  "I would have settled for a small place, more like a bed and breakfast.  He said a regular hotel would be too boring, and a casino would make more money.  He's a lot like you, in many ways."  He looked over at his friend with a teasing grin.  
  
But Ron wasn't looking at him.  Ron was staring fixedly at a point over Harry's shoulder, his expression incredulous.  
  
Harry quirked an eyebrow at him.  "What?"  Getting no answer, he turned, following Ron's line of sight to the front door, where a tall man in black had just entered the lobby.  
  
Harry felt as though he'd been sucker punched in the stomach.  A familiar ache spread across his chest into his lungs where the air used to be, and he could only stare as Draco Malfoy walked into the hotel, pulling back the hood of his travel cloak and shaking the rain from his umbrella like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to be standing right there after having practically disappeared from the face of the earth for three long years.

Seeing Draco again so unexpectedly brought up a whole lot of things that Harry really didn't want to think about at that moment.  He took the rising memories and quickly pushed them back into the far corner of his mind.  

"Isn't this an interesting new development," Ron murmured beside him.

The door of the security office opened suddenly and Rico came out, walking quickly over to them.  "Mr. Potter," he said quietly.  "Gerry just floo-ed from the gate and he says to tell you that Mr. Draco Malfoy is on his way up."

"Yes, I can see that, thank you," Harry said.  He watched as the bell captain had a few words with Draco, then took his cloak and led him upstairs toward the guest rooms.  Harry and Ron stood quietly until the pair had disappeared into the upper hallway.  Harry didn't think Draco had seen them.

"Is there anything you want me to do, Mr. Potter?" Rico asked.

"No, no.  I understand Gerry's concern, but Mr. Malfoy was on our side during the War, after all."  Harry managed a weak smile.  Rico didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded and went back into his office anyway, sparing one last curious look up the stairs.

"Harry," Ron said carefully.  "Do you _really_ think it's of no concern that Malfoy shows up out of nowhere just when something interesting is happening?"

"I don't," said Remus, and Harry jumped, startled.  He'd been so distracted that he hadn't heard his business partner come up behind them.  Remus held up a hand and ticked off a list on his fingers: "Plenty of money, pre-established interest in objects of dark power, Death Eater family ties - I think it's anything but coincidence."

Harry didn't know what to think.  The bundle in his pocket suddenly felt like it weighed five times as much as it had before.

"Well," Ron said briskly, clapping Harry on the shoulder and jolting him out of his thoughts.  "I'll be back in the morning with my investigations team, and we'll have a nice chat with Malfoy then.  Meanwhile, just have Rico keep an eye on his room – take note of any visitors, and make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The clock on the shelf chimed midnight, but Harry didn't feel like going to bed.  Nerves had his stomach all tied into knots and he was tired, but he knew from experience that trying to go to sleep with his mind in such a state would be more frustrating than it was worth.  He'd tucked the pouch with the mysterious Key into his sock drawer.  It seemed as good a place as any to keep it until he could figure out what to do next.

He held onto a cup of tea, feeling the warmth spread through his hands.  Drowsily he watched as steam rose from the surface, ghostly tendrils spinning upward, echoes of things past … potions brewing in a dungeon classroom …  puffing breaths on a cold Quidditch pitch …  Hogwarts burning, columns of thick smoke rising above the Forbidden Forest like thunderclouds.  For weeks afterward, no matter how hard he had scrubbed himself in the bath, the stench of ash and fire had clung to his skin, his hair, even the inside of his nose.

There was almost no way for Draco not to have known Harry was half owner of The Phoenix, even though the Malfoy heir had been keeping well out of the public eye – so well out that his absence still warranted notice in the gossip columns from time to time.  The grand opening of the hotel and casino had been on the front page of every major Wizarding newspaper and magazine, as well as being broadcast live over the Wizard News Network.  Harry and Remus had cut ribbons and popped champagne and smiled broadly for the cameras for what seemed like days.  And yet he had come anyway, for reasons unknown to anyone but himself.

Harry supposed he should go with Ron to question Draco, although he didn't know how Malfoy would react to his presence.  Harry wasn't sure if his presence would be a help or a hindrance.  Maybe Draco wouldn't care one way or the other.  He wasn't sure which of those possibilities he was more anxious about.  The last time they had spoken to each other had ended very, very badly.  Harry snuggled back into the plush armchair with a sigh and let himself remember …

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco's conversion to the Order of the Phoenix in their Sixth Year had always been a mystery to Harry.  One night he'd been summoned to Dumbledore's chambers, where he'd been faced with the unexpected sight of a wounded Snape being tended by Dumbledore while an anxious Draco looked on.  Two sets of Death Eater robes lay discarded on the floor; both were torn, and one was streaked with blood.  Harry had just enough time to catch the look of naked concern on Draco's face over the Headmaster's shoulder as Dumbledore bent over to apply a healing salve to a deep wound on Snape's forehead.  Draco's left eye was bruised and blackening but he stood without complaint and watched his Head of House being tended.

"Harry," Dumbledore had said calmly, without looking up.  "Mr. Malfoy will be joining us at tomorrow night's Order meeting.  While I see to Professor Snape's injury, would you be so kind as to instruct him in the proper passwords, and see that he gets to the infirmary.  Poppy will want a look at him, even though he claims to be just fine."

Harry had been too shocked to ask questions, and Draco hadn't said a word other than to curtly repeat the passwords back to him on the walk to the infirmary.  They had gone quickly through the dark, and Madame Pomfrey had been anxiously waiting for them, hustling Draco off into an exam room and closing the door behind her with barely a glance at Harry.

The next night, Draco had appeared at the Order meeting, white-faced and silent, the bruises around his eye standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin.  Harry remembered the stunned silence that filled the room, how everyone had stared at the Slytherin when he'd walked in calmly with his head held high and his usual air of disdain.  But Dumbledore had said nothing as Draco took one of the empty chairs against the wall.  He just started right in with business as usual, and no one else made any comment after that (although Sirius had fidgeted a lot).  Draco came to nearly every meeting from that day forward, until their school days ended.  He would sit next to Severus, often staying behind with the Potions Master to talk to Dumbledore in private long after everyone else had left.  

Harry never found out the reason for Draco's change of heart, but the younger Malfoy had proven to be an invaluable spy.  It was a purely one-sided arrangement, of course; Draco told them what he knew of Voldemort's plans when he could, but once he had left Hogwarts it was far too dangerous for him to go to Order meetings, and owling their plans back to him was out of the question.

"It's not that we don't trust you," Albus had said one day, within Harry's hearing.  "It's too much of a risk.  You understand."  And Draco, dignified as ever, had simply said he did and left it at that.  It was never mentioned again.

As the war continued, Voldemort grew increasingly impatient as he failed to make significant headway against the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix.  Led by Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eaters had begun launching attacks on towns of Muggles, trying to draw Dumbledore's followers out into open battle.  Lucius didn't like or trust Severus Snape, and so by that time Dumbledore's lead spy was being left out of many of the more devious schemes.  If it hadn't been for Draco's inside knowledge and the steady stream of coded information that he secretly sent back to Hogwarts, many additional lives would have been lost and things would have been much worse for the Order.

After graduation, Harry – always a target of the Death Eaters - had stayed on at Hogwarts at Dumbledore's request, where the protection was strongest.  Harry's presence encouraged parents to continue to send their children to school even after the war had broken out in earnest.  He'd helped teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he'd practiced wandless magic with Dumbledore and Sirius.  They'd begun having drills for the students in case of attack, getting the younger children used to the idea of running, hiding, and defending themselves.  He'd trained hard, every day, for the battles they knew would eventually come to their doorstep.  He had received regular owls from Ron and Hermione, comfortably settled in their new jobs with the Ministry, and remained a distant third party to their growing romance.

The final attack had come during the spring of Harry's twenty-first year.  He remembered very few details about the actual day that Voldemort's followers finally cracked the security wards around Hogwarts.  He knew the standard accounts, of course, the ones that made the newspapers and the ones written into the history texts: how both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic had been attacked simultaneously; how the faculty and students of Hogwarts had mounted a more than adequate defence under the experienced leadership of the Order members while the Ministry Aurors fought more fiercely than anyone had ever anticipated they could, pressed into unexpected heroism by Ron's unceasing encouragement.  But there were many things that the new history texts left out, like Draco's final desperate message that nearly came too late … 

The official accounts never effectively captured the sounds of screaming panic and the confused swirl of bodies running and diving for cover as masked figures blinked into the Great Hall in the middle of lunch, hours earlier than expected.  There were no swaying photographic images of Voldemort's Abatamancers breaking down the protective wards with their murmured chants, no pictures of Snape turning over tables and shoving Dumbledore to the ground behind them, no front page headlines telling how Remus had leapt from his side and hurled himself bodily at the nearest Death Eater.  Only in Harry's dreams was there any replay of the sickening crunch a man's head made as it connected with the stone floor, propelled toward the bone-splintering surface by Sirius's furious fists.

Those few things Harry could remember with startling clarity, even years later.  But everything after that was a blur of ducking and dodging and hurling curses, stumbling into and over bodies, chasing and being chased.  The only other image that stood out clearly from that day was a set of sea-grey eyes staring hard into his own, a deep, piercing pain within them that was all Harry's fault.  On the nights that he dreamed of these things Harry would wake up shuddering and gasping for breath, covered in a cold sweat and tangled in his blankets.

The clock struck half twelve.  Sipping his lukewarm tea, Harry remembered the awards ceremony that had been held not long after the final battle, where he'd been awarded the Order of Merlin – the highest honour given to a Wizard.  Others had received the honour as well, including Ron.  At the same time Snape, Draco, and Sirius (posthumously) had been given special pardons from the Ministry in acknowledgement of their "delicate" work in the service of the Order of the Phoenix.

Draco had sat next to Snape and stared straight ahead through the whole ceremony.  He'd refused to look at Harry at all.

He'd finally caught up with Draco at the end of the night, after the reception and a few too many cocktails.  One glimpse of a pale blond head had sent Harry running to the back door, desperate to catch Draco before he left.

"Malfoy, wait!"

"I've nothing to say to you."  Draco had opened the door, and Harry followed him out into the damp night.

"But I just wanted to –"

Draco cut him off.  "You don't have to worry about me, Potter.  I'm fine."

"Why won't you talk to me?" Harry blurted out.  He had the feeling Draco wasn't quite as drunk as he was, and it put him even more off balance.

Draco's laugh was bitter.  "I'm sorry, you know; sorry that I – wait, no I'm not."  Draco looked at him for the first time, and his eyes were hard.  "I'm glad, as a matter of fact.  I wouldn't change a thing."

"Just my luck.  You're finally talking, but you're not making any sense."

Draco smiled, but there was no warmth in it.  "Well.  Anyway.  If I'd just gone straight back for help, if I hadn't been in shock … if I hadn't let him get to me so, I'd have gone on my way, and you'd have gone yours, and it never would have happened.  But at least now I know where I stand.  The mystery is gone."

Harry held his hands up, pleading.  "Look, I've never asked you to –"

"Oh I know, Potter.  You never ask anyone for anything.  You're perfectly content as you are, with your little gaggle of perfect friends and your hundreds of fawning admirers.  Don't misunderstand, I know where you're coming from – you have a reputation to think of, after all.  It won't do for you to be seen traipsing about with the enemy.  But there's also something that I won't do."

Harry stared at him, confused.  "What's that?"

"Get burned twice in the same place."  And with that Draco Apparated away, fading out slowly like a half-remembered dream.  It was the last time that he was seen by any wizard for the next three years. 

And now he was sleeping quietly in Harry's hotel just like any other guest.

Harry swore softly, pinching the bridge of his nose.  His tea had grown cold, and he set it aside.  He would have to talk to Draco in the morning, there was no way around it.  But it wasn't something he was looking forward to at all.


End file.
